


The SWORD to One's SHIELD

by AotA



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dimension Travel, GFY, M/M, multiple tony starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AotA/pseuds/AotA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidental dimensional travel can give a Stark a complex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The SWORD to One's SHIELD

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pookaseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pookaseraph/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Iron Man: Director of S.W.O.R.D.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552202) by [Pookaseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pookaseraph/pseuds/Pookaseraph). 



"—et Director Stark!"

Oh _shit_ , is Tony's first thought. Nothing good ever comes from hearing the title of Director attached to his name. Struggling to his feet, he only gets the chance to see a flash of red, white, and blue, before something heavy smashes him to the ground.

Metal keens against metal, and Tony absently notes that it has to be an armor. Of _course_.

"Stay down," comes the expected, electronic growl even as Tony winces at the way his captor twists his arms behind him, "Disengage the armor and surrender because Stark is going to be pissed off enough already. Don't need to make it harder on yourself."

Tony computes that. Considering that he is pretty sure that the armor pinning him is supposed to be the Iron Patriot even though it sounds nothing like Osborne and there is a Director Stark in power. Weird, but... okay then.

"I'd love to," he manages despite the knee in his back and the denting grip at the back of his head, "but I don't particularly care for being crushed to death by your fat ass."

"Ha ha," the Iron Patriot says flatly, entirely without humor, "I don't _think_ so. Anyone simultaneously smart and stupid enough to hijack an Iron Man armor and show up in the middle of a SWORD base isn't someone that I particularly want to let go of when I have the advantage. Commander Rogers will get here soon enough to deal with you because Director Stark doesn't have enough hours in his day to deal with this kind of bullshit."

...SWORD? Tony wonders, then, Steve is working _with_ me? _What?_

"Look," he says, "I think this is all some sort of misunder... standing?"

Commander Rogers, and it is most definitely _Commander_ , is striding toward him, deep blue body armor with a silver star sitting in the center of his chest and stripes extending out from it and wrapping around his shoulders. A deep frown etches lines across his face as heavy black boots come to a halt a few inches from Tony's nose.

"So what kind of loadout do you think we're dealing with here, Commander? Iron Man, War Machine, Militant?" Iron Patriot quips.

"Unknown," Steve says, staring intently into Tony's eyes and he just can't look away, "It isn't one of Tony's so it's probably Hydra."

"Hydra?!" Tony can't help but squawk and flail before he is slammed down again when he accidentally squirms against Iron Patriot's hold. "I am _not_ a fucking _Nazi!_ What the hell, Steve?!"

Unexpectedly, Steve squats down and grips his chin, a contemplative expression on his face, "Open your helmet... Tony."

Iron Patriot, above him, freezes, grip loosening ever so slightly as he sputters a shocked, "What?"

Tony pops the faceplate rather than remove it, "Hi? Fancy seeing you here."

Unexpectedly, Steve snorts and graces Tony with a fond expression, "Not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"Uh... no?" Tony asks, baffled and helplessly charmed, utterly disarmed by the affectionate mannerisms, "Define stupid?" How on earth a _Commander_ Rogers version of Steve can look at him like that is beyond him.

Steve snorts. "Alright then," Steve chuckles and nods to Iron Patriot, "Let the man up."

"O... kay," Iron Patriot says and releases Tony, stepping back so Tony can climb to his feet.

Getting his first good look at the place, he saw everything he would expect from a SHIELD base, just... tilted a few degrees to the side. "I have a question," Tony says, holding up a finger as his eyes catch on the very non-SHIELD logo on the uniforms. SWORD. Right. He eyes the Iron Patriot armor for a moment before turning back to Steve.

"Yes?" Steve asks.

"Where the hell am I?" He stretches out with Extremis, trying to sweet talk the systems into giving him more information about the situation he had found himself in, but something... immense in them took one look at him and summarily tossed him out on his ass. He pokes back and is slapped down again. He suddenly gets the sudden and ominous feeling of having Jarvis-disapproval being focused his way by the systems. It is an unusually familiar sensation and he refrains from prodding them again, feeling like a naughty kid being caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh... SWORD?" Iron Patriot says and pops his own face plate to reveal one James Rhodes — now there's an idea —, "You know, your baby when SHIELD went and imploded? Do you have amnesia?"

"No," Tony says immediately, then amends it, "Well, technically, yes, but no."

Rhodey makes a face of utter exasperation, "Oh god. Stop right there. This is going to be one of _those_ conversations, isn't it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony says, miffed, but decides that they're probably okay at least in the short term and disengages his armor, golden undersuit disappearing under his skin, leaving him dressed, thankfully, in a suit since nudity would _probably_ be counter productive in this instance.

One can never be entirely certain that nudity _won't_ be helpful when dealing with alternate universes.

Unexpectedly, Steve just grins rather than looking uncomfortable at his display. "Alternate reality?" he asks, motioning for Tony to follow him, and Tony does.

"I'd say so," Tony agrees, "Considering that SHIELD never 'imploded', I never made an organization called 'SWORD', and far too many other things are off right out the gate." He hesitates for a second, "So I am a Director of this SWORD organization in this reality?" It is _weird_.

"Yes," Steve says, with a nod as SHIELD, or rather SWORD agents flowed around them, "We are still getting our feet under us, but since the hearings we are fully legitimized, which means that a lot of former SHIELD agents are filling out our command structure." Steve's relief at that is... interesting, but Tony supposes that it is understandable. Even if he didn't remember it, he knows that running an _established_ organization was difficult, to say the least. Putting an entirely new one together on what sounds like an on the fly manner has to suck balls.

They enter an elevator and go up to one of the upper floors. They are let out onto a floor that looks like... a thing. It is kind of like an unholy blend of a mess hall and a war room, and at the center of the seemingly disorganized flow of traffic is a dark haired man wearing a black, circuit-etched suit with dashingly familiar facial hair.

The man, an alternate him, grins, and despite the lines and fading circles under his eyes, this Director Stark appears no worse for wear than as if he had spent a particularly long time on an inventing binge and is just starting to recover. Not what Tony would have expected, but... somewhat relieving.

Desperate Tonys are never good Tonys.

Tony knows this from personal experience.

"Hey, Tony," other-Tony says with a strangely restrained smirk as he waves off a couple agents hovering around him, holding various things in their hands, "I have to say, it's interesting seeing someone else wearing my handsome face, and I'm really interested in how you accessed Stark Tower's networks without an access point." Tony is shaking other-Tony's hand when the man's face goes serious and he says, "Don't do it again."

Tony blinks. "Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?" he asks, "You are way too serious to be another me."

"My midlife crisis was maturity and responsibility," other-Tony says dryly, "since I'd already done all the drinking and partying and fast cars."

Taking the man in again, Tony realizes that this other Tony is actually... kind of... old. As bizarre as that might be.

The lines carved by tension on his face weren't _all_ from stress. Some were just from the passing of time.

"And the women," Steve mutters, "Can't forget the women."

Other-Tony snorts at Steve. "Yes. I _did_ the women," he says before leering at Steve in a way that makes the transplanted 40s man flush slightly, "and the men. Can't forget the men."

That, more than anything, surprises Tony, "You're bi?"

"Pan," other-Tony says, _oozing_ smugness, eyes hooding with a predatory gleam, "I'm pan, but so very, very taken."

Tony _stares_. "Well... shit," he says, "That... That I did not expect to hear."

"Still slutting it up then, I bet," other-Tony nods, infuriatingly knowingly, "Fun times while they lasted. A bit boring these days though."

Tony has trouble comprehending this... aberration. "Boring."

Other-Tony grabs Steve and reels him in, "I admit to having a thing for leggy blonds, one particular blond in particular though."

Tony finds himself growing a bit hot under his collar as Tony Stark and Steve Rogers kissed. Surprisingly chaste, considering _Tony Stark_ but perhaps not, because _Steve Rogers_.

He blinks and finds himself saying, "Okay. I think I can _get behind_ this." He grins at the pair, "Fuck, other-me, you've got yourself a catch. I can admit to being jealous."

Other-Tony is smugly satisfied and Steve is wearing a pleased, somewhat dopey smile and the agents hovering just outside a wobbly radius don't seem to find anything at all odd about the not-at-all-illicit liaison between their Director and field Commander.

Unfair.

A quiet litany of jealousy starts up in the back of his mind.

This Tony Stark isn't even a woman.


End file.
